The Obsidian Chronicles
by Drazhar
Summary: None of the main characters from Esca are features in this, just a whole lot of concepts.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter One - The Storyteller.  
  
  
  
"GATHER ROUND CHILDREN!"  
  
The aged voice bellowed. Or at least, attempted to bellow. The man's voice was ancient, but not without humor. A voice every mother, father and child in the small village of Narr knew well. A voice that made it's money, telling stories to children, and other folk alike. A voice that had seen great hardship, and lived to tell the tail with a smile on it's face.   
  
"GATHER ROUND! For tonight, is the night in which I tell you the tale, of how you all came into existence.. Well, how your great, great, great, great - you get the idea - grandfathers came into being."  
  
The last sentence brought a slight giggle from the mob of small children, only a few of them having reached there teens. But all of them alike shared one thing. A burning anticipation to hear the old man's next story. He would come out of no-where every Friday night. And tell stories for the odd coin. Nobody knew why he did it. Some children speculated that he was being paid by the local school to make history more interesting. Whereas most thought he was simply quite mad, and had a liking for children.   
  
He was a tall, thin man. With a lived in look on his face. With a perpetual grin that had not left him since his first appearance in the small town. He wore very dull robes. Of a deep, muddy brown. The only item upon his personage that seemed to be worth anything; was a long, wooden staff. Ornate, and intricate in it's design. Though he never used it for anything more than a crutch.   
  
Resuming his speech, the old man spoke;  
  
"This is a story, that takes place, -Millions- of years ago. No, I lie. Billions.. In-fact, it took place a number of years so mind-bogglingly huge, that to even ATTEMPT to count it would result in madness. And possibly baldness too. Suffice to say. It was a looooooooong time ago. Back when the creator himself, took the multiverse into his hands like a blank lump of clay. Sculpting trees, mountains, and worlds alike. Winding nature up like a pocket watch. That first turn started everything. You, me, even the Gods themselves all came from his hands. This is the tail, of the nameless ones. The first beings to come into existence. After the creator that is. They were his children. Living proof why some parents eat there young, or at least one of them was.   
  
You see children. The creator, having poured all but a minute portion of his heart and soul into his work. On the tenth day, there was almost nothing left of him. All that was left, was his almighty heart. And knowing his time was near. He took his still beating heart. and sliced it clean in two. Giving birth to them. The two children, supposedly put there to guide life down a peaceful course. And to maintain his work. But there was a problem. He had not foreseen that by splitting himself in half, he would split his personality in half. One child, was sweet, loving, and innocent. Who grew to nurture the worlds. Breathing life into the barren templates her father had forged.  
  
But the other. The boy, was not exactly what you would call a nice person. In-fact, he was downright evil. Embodying all of the dark, vicious aspects of his father. Greed, and anger fueled his actions. He wanted it all for himself. He saw the traces of life his sister had created as insects. Cleaving worlds asunder in his disgust. With a mere gesture, he could abolish worlds. Even the minute power he had been granted by his father was enough to kill with a glance. Reveling in the power-trip. Holding life in the palm of his careless hand.   
  
Seeing her brothers lust for pain, and death. The other child raced to action. Resulting in an apocalyptic battle. Turning the forces of nature against each other. Neither able to harm the other. And so, seeing the damage they were causing. She tore a great rift at the center of the universe. And threw herself, and her brother along with her into it. Re-Writing the very Æther. So that neither of them would ever be able to leave their side of the rift. And devoting her power to suppressing his. Binding them there forever.  
  
That, children. Was how it all began. And to this day, neither of the children has been able to escape. Both having settled down, knowing that they cannot best each other. Both now lie dormant. Waiting, poised to strike. For the other to make a move. But since that time. Without the destructive force of the other child. Life has prospered across the worlds. Magic has been harnessed by our mages. And the forces of nature have been tamed to aid us. But rest assured, if he even stepped out of the great rift. The moment he drew breath, everything we knew would cease to exist. He will only be sated with the complete annihilation of the universe.   
  
Any Questions?" He finished with. His tone of voice rising back from the depths it had lowered too. Causing some of the children to blink with surprise. Pulling them back to reality. And out of their own individual fantastical renditions of the tale they had just heard.  
  
"Well? He who doth not ask. Stays dumb."  
  
The wizened old man spoke, giving a slight chuckle.   
  
"Ah well, I'll give your young minds a chance to recovered from that last drop of information. I know that it's the weekend, and the notion of learning anything ends the moment the school bell rings. You can ask me on the way."  
  
"On the way??"  
  
One of the children asked, in a high-pitched, irritating voice. Filled with excitement, and wonder. The last time the storyteller had taken them somewhere, it had been to a forest, filled with giant beasts, and exotic insects. And with an uncharacteristic display of magic. He had allowed them to walk freely through the normally forbidden forest without any risk at all. The creatures seemed not to notice the children. As if they were invisible.  
  
"We, young man. Pending your parents permission. Are going to the Guymelef tournament in the city."  
  
And before he could even finish the sentence. They erupted into cheers, some of them hugging at his legs in gratitude. It was every child's dream to witness those tournaments. Some of the top players were said to have Melefs so powerful that they could wipe out entire cities without even breaking a sweat. So to speak. The only real guymelef they had ever seen was a mining unit down at the quarry. Which lost its novelty after you realized that it's fighting potential was about as high as a grapefruit if it came up against anything faster than a slug.   
  
"Now children, I want you all to run off to your parents, and demand that if they love you. They will let you go to this tournament, as it's a once in a life-time chance that you'll never ever ever get to see again and if they don't let you go you'll hold your breath till your head turns blue. Meet me back here in an hour with your parents here. I will here it from them alone."   
  
And with that, he dismissed them, wandering off to a shop to buy some provisions for the trip. Laying a large gold coin on the table that made the shop-keepers eyes bulge. And requested for the finest junk-food that the shop could offer. And told the man at the counter that he could keep whatever change there was if he would help carry the assorted bags of sweets out to his transport out back. A large, sleek, metallic ship. Adorned with twin levistones, and a powerful engine at the back, riddled with wind runes, and other magical symbols.   
  
An hour later, a group of irritable parents were gathered around the town square. Some visibly dragged by their children, who were habitually tugging at their mothers and fathers skirt or trousers, to prevent them from leaving. All of whom, though angry they had been dragged down to the town square, knew that the children could not be in safer hands. The old storyteller had been visiting their village for as long as any of them could remember. Yet he never seemed to age. It was well known that he was a very high level mage. He could probably kill them all if he wished. But for some odd reason, he seemed content with spending his weekends telling stories to the children.  
  
Having received each of the parents explicit consent to take their children off to a Guymelef tournament. The most vicious, and spectacular sport in existence. He called them all over to his familiar ship. Adorned with mystic-looking symbols that the children ogled over for the entire trip. When not listening intently to the old man's voice. Trying to soak up every drop of wonder that poured from his near limitless source of legends and myths.   
  
Walking over to the head of his small ship. The old man tapped a pair of inert glyphs, which flared into life. A spherical illusion hovered over the control panel. And with an expert gesture, he rotated the image map, and tapped a course into the sphere. Leading them to the giant dome at the center of the capitol city. And with a low hum of power. All of the runes covering the bulk of the ship lit up simultaneously. And a swirling layer of energy surged out from the front of the ship. Surrounding the entire bulk of the vehicle. And after a few moments, it began to rise. Getting up into the clouds, children waving down at their parents through the transparent barrier. But in the blink of an eye, they were gone. And the landscape was streaming past them at unfathomable speeds to there infantile minds. And after about ten minutes of zooming across the continent. It arrived. Capitol City.  
  
The city looked to be a giant bronze mass. Huge towers, adorned with steam-powered train cars networked around them. All driven by titanic mana batteries. Giant structures that converted sunlight into pure, white mana - to drive the great engines around the city. And at the very heart of the city. The towering mage guild stood tall and proud. Piercing the clouds like a golden javelin. With hundreds of tiny windows covering it's walls. The building was rumored to be even larger than it appeared. The sheer force of the magical energies contained within those walls had distorted time and space itself. With that in mind, nobody really knew how many floors there were. But it was estimated around about a thousand.  
  
But that was not what truly captivated the imagination of the children. It was the dome. The huge, mountain sized dome, within which the legendary tournament would take place. Combatants from all across the universe were gathering to show off their power, with banners strewn across the streets, each devoted to a group, or individual pilot. Shouts from all around, arguing over the possible victors. The tournament was almost about to start. The children were already arguing over who of the contenders in the tournament would win. Each of the top pilots was known far and wide. Word of the tournaments spread faster than thought possible. And the level of obsession some children displayed was almost un-nerving at times.  
  
Pulling up outside the dome. The old man's ship's shield dissipated as they approached ground level. And the children disgorged across the stone floor. Giggling between each other and practically jumping with excitement. And with a slight jump, he landed on the ornate floor. Amidst thousands of other vessels, all having arrived for the same reason. The 756th annual Guymelef Tournament. 


	2. The Obsidian Chronicles Chapter Two

Chapter Two - The Tournament Begins.  
  
  
The group spent the night in the finest hotel in the city, which was an amazing feat in itself; to have actually managed to acquire reservations for a room. Especially one of such exquisite quality. The children had spent the remainder of the night playing in the pool, splashing each other and generally causing as much havoc as they could between themselves. But the old man never once raised his voice, even when Tomin had attempted to use the other children as stepping stones, in an attempt to race across the water without touching it. The ensuing fight could have woken the dead, as Suzy began bawling at the top of her voice.   
  
The following morning, the streets were ablaze with activity, hundreds upon thousands of merchants peddling their wares, and haggling like it was going out of fashion. The group awoke early, as the latter of the populous had forgone sleep to set up the festivities for the following day. Making their way to the giant dome they had ogled over the previous evening. Stampeding through the streets like deranged rabbits, all chasing after the same carrot towards the dome. Oddly enough, the old man had no trouble keeping up with the group of youths. Taking up the rear to make sure that none of them ended up getting lost in the many stalls that lined the crowded streets.  
  
Upon arriving in the courtyard of the titanic structure, the old mage called out to the almost rabid children, gathering them together like a teacher would with students. Counting each one to make sure he hadn't let any of them slip away.   
  
"Well, this is it children. The moment most of you have been waiting for, for near enough your entire lives. I promise you, the images you take in the next few hours, will stay with you until the day you die. The tournament will take place over the next five days, these are just the final preliminaries. Every guymelef knight wing in the known universe is going to be here. And as a special treat. A few friends of mine in some very high places, have granted me permission to take you on an exclusive tour of the hangars"  
  
And with that, the group of children practically died on the spot out of sheer disbelief. They were about to meet the pilots. The notion of meeting their collective heroes was almost too much for them, rushing forward to hug at the old man's knee-caps, praising his very existence loud enough to be heard over the crazed masses. And with that; the rabble marched onwards to the back of the arena. Somewhat quieter than the rest of the city. But the lack of screams and shouts was amply made up for by the sound of heavy machinery, running the maintenance on the awesome clockwork giants, each one so blisteringly intricate and complex that at least half of the people capable of building them were generally quite insane.   
  
With a look of unfathomable awe, and shock. They quietly moved through the hangar, lost for words, as the giant's armored hulks were laid bare. Men and women that they had previously seen only in posters and some of the other, magically recorded tournaments. But that had been on small, crystalline viewers. And as they had thought; it was -nothing- compared to the real thing.  
  
Walking down the aisle between the huge, powerful machines. Feeling the warm, powerful radiance emanating from the still beating dragon hearts used to drive the godlike engines inside their armored frames. Dragons, being highly magical beings; did not have a normal physiology. Their very blood was imbued with mana, their eyes seeing into the magical spectrum, their wings gliding on currents of mana. And their legendary breath. Igniting the very winds of magic themselves in a kind of innate fire spell. Not actually using fire at all. Simply causing a powerful reaction in the mana around them. Thousands of years ago, it was discovered that even after it's death, a dragon's heart still radiated a magical half-life that would last almost indefinitely.   
  
And thus; the first guymelef was created. Supposedly the most powerful of all. And rumor has it that the greatest pilot of the time still has it in his family. The legendary Kraikon Gallowglass. His melef having been passed down through the ages. It's frame lined with powerful glyphs and runes, amassed by his predecessors. Though the sword was lost thousands of years ago. Forged from the fang of an elder dragon, and supposedly powerful enough to cut clean through pure mithrill without even slowing down. The guymelef still retains its trademark infamy. Though the body of the machine has been re-worked countless times, and the original design is long forgotten. The original heart still beats strong. Radiating a low, crimson aura from the ornate crystal it had been imprisoned within.  
  
One of the children, making a bold move, walked up one of the runways to her favorite pilot's hangar bay. The young woman was tinkering with one of the arms of her giant guymelef. It was rather small as far as guymelef's went, but it had its reasons; as what it lacked in size, it fully made up for in power. Using the dragons innate magical field to bolster her own spells, using the guymelef as a kind of magical battery - allowing her to pull off some truly ridiculous feats of magical prowess. The arms of the metal giant were lined with runes of power, that hummed with suppressed energy - ready to lash out at a moment's notice. A giant transparent chamber, with several strange mechanical devices built in, to speed up her use of the weave.   
  
Before the child could assault the Elven pilot with a barrage of questions and praises to drive any living thing at least partially insane. A thunderous booming sound the likes of which the children had never heard, as the top of the giant structure buckled and snapped out of place. Giant mechanical limbs pulling it back like a circular doorway. Seconds later, the default answer for almost every child on the planet if asked "Who's your hero?". Kraikon Gallowglass.  
  
Kraikon Gallowglass. The undisputed champion of the guymelef knights. And their self-appointed leader, as there is no -true- head of the knights; and they are all hypothetically freelancers, unless called upon by the mage council; The main governing body over the known universe. Made up of the most ancient, and wizened men and women representing each and every recognized political group and faction in existence.   
  
With a powerful rush of air and magic, the titanic guymelef; Aravahlis. Forged over a thousand years ago by the finest craftsmen of the time, Human, Ankaran, Dwarven and Elven blacksmiths each contributed to the design. And over the years it had been modified and re-worked countless times, giving it an unprecedented edge in combat; matched only by a select few beings in existence, and exceeded by next to none.  
  
With another set of mechanical noises, the interlocked armor of the Aravahlis un-sealed itself, and the soldier of legend leapt to the floor; his thin, light-weight armor designed for the sole purpose of interlocking with his guymelef. Stepping forwards from the Aravahlis, Kraikon began to walk down the aisle, greeting several of the other pilots on the way, stopping about half way down to speak to one of them. She was lying on a gravity pad at the back of her guymelef; a very light-weight design, with a green and black motif, a pair of swords up on holsters against the wall.   
  
Pushing herself out from behind the guymelef, Megilindar, roughly translated in Elven as "Blade Singer". The pilot; Natalia Dagnir, a somewhat enigmatic young Elf, pushed herself out from behind the machines giant frame, looking up at Kraikon, still caught in a field of subjective gravity, which allowed her to work on the melef without having to move the frame itself around. Making it much, much easier.  
  
"Nats!" He yelled, causing her to grasp a pair of odd looking poles, floating next to the board she was lying on, giving a very strange sight to anyone not accustomed to working in customized gravity.  
  
"Yes sir?" She practically saluted, giving off a perpetual air of cuteness that nobody could really penetrate, even through the armored bulk of the Megilindar, her every move had a very blatant, rebellious innocence that made you want to walk up and ruffle her hair.. and then take a few steps back to make sure everything was still intact.  
  
"You ready for this thing?" He asked, already knowing the answer, but it seemed like the thing to say before such an event. But she simply raised an eyebrow, and pushed herself back behind the Megilindar, and with a mild chuckle, he carried on walking, and all of a sudden; his eyes practically lit up. As he spotted the old man, standing behind a small army of children.  
  
"You! I haven't seen you in years!! How have you been old man?"  
  
This was more than the children could take, the man they had spent the past few years of their small lives going to see on the weekends actually knew -Kraikon-. Was this even possible? Most of them didn't think so. But before any of them could rush to vindicate the guymelef knight's sanity with childish questions he'd probably answered a million times before. The old man stepped forwards.  
  
"I've been around"  
  
He spoke, trying to uphold his usual air of mystery, it had become habit for him to appear as 'the mysterious stranger', but it wouldn't work with someone who's entire family had known him well. He had been near enough Kraikon's grandfather's best friend. Though nobody thought to ask why he never seemed to get any older, it just... felt right. They just subconsciously guessed that he had been blessed with the gift of perpetual old age, giving him a homely, and wizened look, so unthreatening that it almost came full circle and became terrifying... Almost.  
  
"Well then, we'll have to catch up on old times someday. Bring the troop with you, maybe give 'em a showing of what this thing can do."  
  
He said, whilst motioning to the giant, mechanical masterpiece, only a few feet behind him. Practically oozing raw power; the heart beating with the power and strength of an emperor dragon, battle hardened by centuries in the service of the most powerful warriors in history. The children practically burst wit excitement at the thought. But they had run out of time. With a sudden surge of sound and light, the stadium began to stir; crowds screaming, music playing, alarms going off; The tournament had begun.  
  
  
Giving a wave to the old man, Kraikon dashed back to the Aravahlis, and with a running jump; maneuvered himself in an impressive acrobatic display into the cockpit, and locked himself in. Legs clamping into ancient harnesses, metallic limbs interlocking with the slim - skin tight armor. Moments later, they were one. The Aravahlis and Kraikon thought, breathed, moved, and fought as one entity. Perfect unison; a thing of beauty.  
  
Kicking the boosters into life, Kraikon began to hover a few meters off the floor, and with a sudden blur of movement, he had turned around, and activated the over-boosters. Leaving the children in a stunned, mindless stupor. Too dumb-founded to react with anything beyond a stare, they watched as every other guymelef arose from it's dormant state. Some simply walking out of the gantries, and others taking flight, some even flickering out of sight in a haze of magical energy. All headed for the same place; the central arena. Where all the knights were to gather before the games began. For some reason, the mage council had asked that they may address the knights as a whole. 


	3. The Obsidian Chronicles Chapter Three

Chapter Three - The Beginning of the End.  
  
  
A few hours after the original fanfare began, the greatest fighting force in the known worlds was assembled inside one, giant arena. All primed and ready to show off to their hearts content, to bask in the glory of the millions and millions of fans that had gathered from far and wide to see them fight... If only they had known what was to come.   
  
The music died down, the crowd became silent almost automatically, and a tall, ominous figure moved towards the edge of an ornate balcony at one side of the arena. Long, white hair swept back over his perfect, Elven features. This was the face of Janus Krug, self proclaimed spokes-person for the mage council. He had lived for hundreds, if not thousands of years, and was still as sharp, and witty as ever.   
  
With an odd gesture, several small lines of magic etched themselves into the air around his hand, summoning a form of microphone to address the entire stadium, and at the very same time, a large illusionary screen, detailing the glorified politician's face in perfect detail. He began to speak, leaving a moment to take in the anticipation practically bleeding from his surroundings. He knew what he was about to do would cause an almighty uproar. In-fact, he even counted on it.  
  
"Ahem.. Ladies and Gentlemen. What I am about to tell you, is not something I will derive any pleasure from, I have had many sleepless nights turning this speech over in my mind, and I have come to a conclusion; which is that there is no easy way to do this. However, it must be done. First of all, I would like to congratulate the guymelef knights as a whole, and their mothers, and their fathers, and to dedicate this day, to those who have died in the service of the allied worlds. Now onto the difficult part. After many, many long months of painful discussion, it is the decision of the mage council to abolish the Guymelef Knight Wings."  
  
And with those last five words, the entire crowd erupt into shouts, and screams of disbelief and rage, not a single person expected this. And after about five seconds of absolute havoc, Janus signaled for silence, blotting out the crowds voices with a simple spell, and after all had gone silent, he continued.  
  
"People! Listen to me! The council sees this as our only option, as for the current state of affairs with the Dragons, we have been made an offer that we CANNOT refuse. They have demanded that all guymelefs be dismantled, and the hearts be returned to the Draconic homeworld within the month. If this is done, then they will agree to a cease fire. The guymelefs have been the sword and shield of our worlds for millennia now, but I say 'Why wield weapons of mass destruction when you can cast them away and have your enemy do the same?' In the long run, this is the best answer. I do not wish to see any more of our men and women slain in battle against the Dragons, and if things aren't rectified soon then the current scuffle will escalate to an all out war. You all know what they are capable of, if they truly wanted us obliterated, there would be little the knights could do about a thousand emperor dragons planeshifting in around a capitol city, it would be obliterated in seconds, and then they would simply systematically commit an act of genocide."  
  
The uproar had become prominent again, but a little less violent. Children had heard of the Dragons in school, and some of the older people in the crowd may have actually seen one. Not the swamp dragons, or the land dragons that simply look like a glorified flying squirrel, no, the -true- Dragons. The Dragons's capable of obliterating a city on a whim, of killing hundreds with a breath, the Dragons capable of breathing magic like it was air, and give off almighty gouts of power. It's not unheard-of for one of them using dark energy in it's breath, slaying all those caught in it's path with purified death magic. The crowd agreed on one point of the speech, they did -not- want an all out war with the Dragons.  
  
Somehow, he was starting to win the crowd over, their inexorable belief that the guymelef knights were a necessity was starting to be proven not all too inexorable after all. But Janus was not out of the woods yet, he still had people left to convince. The Knights themselves.  
  
"Now, I am lead to believe that you are all reasonable, law abiding people, and thus, I offer you anything you wish. Anything the council has to give, within sane measure, will be yours. Be it riches, or position of another kind, anything you may want to repay this grievous loss. Will be yours" And with that last statement, he almost thought he had it in the bag, but as the council had said, Kraikon would not be so easily swayed.   
  
Now standing inside the cockpit of the Aravahlis out in the center of the arena, Kraikon Gallowglass, the leader of the guymelef knights kicked his engines into life, and sped up in-front of Janus's booth. Even through the armor, you could feel the rage seeping out of the once peaceful man's soul, almost making the air boil to match.  
  
"IF YOU THINK THAT WE ARE GOING TO LET YOU TAKE AWAY OUR LIFES WORK FOR A TOKEN PRIZE THEN YOU MUST BE AS DUMB AS YOU ARE ARROGANT! Janus, the council KNOWS what we have been through, we have been at your service for MELENNIA, and now you just throw it back in our faces just to make the dragons happy? well I say FORGET THE DRAGONS!" That last line bringing a deafening shout from the crowd, and causing Janus to ruffle his brow in agitation. He had hoped that Kraikon would adhere to his supposed obedience to the council and show some rebellion, but not enough to break his hold over the crowd. With that in mind, and a few subliminal waves of power, another set of contingency spells interwoven with his very being when off. Powerful blue magic's began to grow in power, and wards that still lay just below the realm of normal sight flickered briefly, not long enough for any human to see it, but long enough for one man in the entire crowd to catch on.  
  
Until now, the old man had known something was wrong; his mind was hazy, and pliant. His arcane senses may have been out of practice, but they were by no means any less useful, and he had seen the sudden jolt in the level of blue mana about the arena. If it had been a few hundred years ago he would have picked up on the Chanjelin Wards in an instant, countering them without a thought and setting up as powerful an Aquas Ward as he could as soon as possible. Only EXTREEMLY powerful blue mages had access to that sort of spell, and the only one he knew of in the area was also probably sitting on enough countermagic to throw anything he could muster back at him. The years he had spent living in peace had allowed his contingency spells to dwindle, and as a younger man, Janus would have never been a match for him.   
  
Making a risky move, he drew upon the weave, and before anyone could notice him, summoned a field of illusion around himself. But not quick enough, he noticed that Janus turned his glare upon him, barley hiding the shock upon realizing who he was dealing with; His old mentor.  
  
Without a visible change in expression, Janus's aura flared into preparation. Invisible wards earthed into the winds of magic from his persona, locking down on the available mana in the area, and putting a strangle hold on the magical powers of all but himself. Preparing for the worst, as he knew exactly what the old man before him was capable of. But he sensed little complication in his aura. The fool had allowed his contingency spells to dwindle! This would be easier than he thought.  
  
Tapping into the winds of magic, Janus opened a telepathic link to his old master, and began to speak in a snide, arrogant tone, to his former superior; "Aleron you senile old FOOL! What are you doing here!" His entire body crackling on a magical level, raw, seething energy burnt Ætherial scorch-marks into the winds themselves. Janus was a power-house, and he knew it. 


End file.
